


Like Glass Flowers

by Catsitta



Series: Assorted Oneshots [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aftertale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Reapertale (Undertale), Light Angst, M/M, Mild Blood, Possessive Behavior, afterdeath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 14:23:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19443238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsitta/pseuds/Catsitta
Summary: Once Life gifted him a flower that would not die to his touch. Then Fate made a soul he could not reap.AfterDeath | Oneshot





	Like Glass Flowers

Once Life gifted him a flower of glass. She crafted it of sand and fire magic. Was it because she knew how he adored her creations? Was it a thanks for never revealing where she hid? He didn’t ask. Simply twisted the delicate little token between his phalanges, overcome with a strange tide of emotion he couldn’t place. He was Death. He wasn’t supposed to feel, much less feel sentimental. He’d given up on feeling a long time ago when the other Gods made it evident that they wished little to do with someone who could kill them with a touch. Someone, who should there be a war of immortals, could reap the souls of their kind as easily as the mortals they reigned over, and would do so with empty sockets and an emotionless smile. At least Death the younger would likely stay impartial, refusing to harm those he considered friends, a pacifist by nature. The elder of the brothers proved long ago he wasn’t a creature of mercy.

Yet when he held that flower, Death wondered. He pondered. And again, he felt. 

Death secreted Life’s gift to the Underworld and hid it away in a little box in his chambers. It glimmered with her magic. Her essence. Nobody could know of its existence, for if they did, they would know of his treason. How he found Life and never told a Soul where. Not even her husband. But oh how he treasured it. A creation of Life he could not kill. A fragile fragment of the beauty she crafted since the Beginning. A reminder that despite all those millennia of animosity, they came to an understanding. A peace. 

They found Balance.

And if Life could forgive Death, befriend Death, then perhaps—

He gripped his scythe a little tighter, the outcry of souls tugging at him.

—the others would come around as well. A strange sentiment indeed.

Broken. 

That was the easiest way to describe what Death found when he slipped through the void, having answered the call of a particular agonized soul. The call was weak. A small, pitiful wail amongst a sea of screams. But he heard it. He had to wonder how long this mortal suffered in this odd realm of near total darkness. Save for a small patch of grass sprouting where light pooled from a fathomless nowhere, there was nothing here beyond said mortal. Oh what a sight he was, clad in ruined white, blood seeping from an unhealing wound, half his skull obscured by a swath of glitching code. One would think such a soul would kneel at Death’s feet and beg for relief from his agony.

Instead, when that singular eyelight fell upon Death, the small skeleton monster held his ground, the air thickening with hostile magic. 

“there’s no need to fight anymore, sans. your suffering is over.”

He hoped his words would soothe the other. Some souls, especially those that died violently, business left unfinished, attacked him. But nobody escaped Death. He was the great equalizer of all things—young or old, rich or poor, king or pauper—status did not matter, his touch affected them all the same. One swipe of his scythe or brush of his hand, and it would all be over and done. Death gave his scythe a lazy, deliberate twirl, dark eyesockets hooded as he regarded this rebellious, wayward soul, all cracked and crumbling, ready to fall to pieces. 

Sans’ left eyelight flooded with crimson, magic swelling and bursting, bones erupting all around them, draconic skulls answering his summons to fire hellish lazers upon Death, forcing the god to move. Sans’ grin was manic; Death’s became a little more genuine. Interesting. Maybe this broken soul had more fight in him than expected. “i don’t know who you are,” Sans spat, crimson creeping down his chin. “or how you know my name.” He drew a shuddering breath and coughed, painting his teeth with more scarlet. “but i know you don’t belong here.”

Death avoided the attacks like only a being with an eternity to practice such things could. His cloak billowed around him, half-fabric, half-shadow, his feet never actually touching the ground. “says the anomaly,” he replied. “i know all that your soul is willing to tell, little glitch.” Sans lit up the blackness with another series of blasts, pawing at his chest, unable to dust...too determined to die. Yet. “you are sans. a sans. i’ve reaped souls of other yous before. as for who i am... i’d think the scythe and cloak a _dead_ giveaway.”

“but the resets,” Sans began before shaking his head and sending a fresh wave of bones towards his foe. Death delighted in the challenge.

“it is over, sans, there will be no more genocides for you to witness or endure.”

Sans laughed. It was an utter unhinged sound. He didn’t stop fighting.

Death twisted and gave his scythe a mighty swing, demolishing the bones crashing towards him, and watched as they fell to dust. Sans began to cough more heavily; Death took full advantage and lunged forward, forcing the mortal onto the defensive. He bent and jumped with the ingrained reflexes of countless fights with his Human. Graceful despite his state. 

He was—

“beautiful.”

—startled. 

Sans knocked aside the scythe but failed to dodge Death’s hand when it darted out and curled about his wrist. The battle came to an end. Death stared down upon the mortal. And stared. And stared. Both of them unblinking. 

“you’re not dead.”

The scythe dissolved into shadows as Death caught Sans’ other wrist. This broken little anomaly, this pitiful glitch...was deathless. He wondered how Life would feel about one of her creations being corrupted in such a way. Warped—no, forged—by Fate into something new. Something fragile that Death could hold without destroying. Something—someone—alive. Deaf to Sans’ protests and newfound will to struggle, Death let his own magic surface, forcing Sans’ broken mess of a soul to surface. It had to be too good to be true. There couldn’t possibly be a living, breathing mortal that he couldn’t reap. And so he touched Sans’ soul. Cupped it in one hand and listened to the mortal scream with fascination.

“stop, please stop,” Sans pleaded, his cry a mumbled mantra by the time Death relinquished his hold. 

And began to laugh.

Once Life gifted him a flower that would not die to his touch. Then Fate made a soul he could not reap. Both rare and precious. Both terribly fragile. Both stirring something dangerously sentimental within him. Both his to forever keep.

So keep them he would. _Death til they part._

**Author's Note:**

> -END-
> 
> I had a bug of an idea on my brain. Jammed this out before bed to get it in words. A bit of a thought piece more than anything else since I have very little knowledge of either AU's canon or fanon (though the scene in Reapertale with Life!Toriel giving Reaper!Sans a glass flower always sorta stuck with me). Anyway~ 
> 
> I'm looking to do an art or writing trade this summer. Check out this [tumblr](https://catsitta.tumblr.com/post/185961644237/wanna-trade) post if you're interested~


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